


Make it happy, make it good

by Aces_and_Roses



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, now featuring: sasha's parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:07:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22188340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aces_and_Roses/pseuds/Aces_and_Roses
Summary: The thing about happy endings, is that they make everything seem worth it. No matter how much terror, or pain, or suffering there is, a happy ending makes everything seem alright. Sometimes they’re even enough to convince us that the suffering was necessary, in order to get to that final happiness.What if I told you that wasn’t true?What if I told you that there were worlds out there, worlds where the happiness came without the suffering?You’d want to see for yourself, wouldn’t you?
Relationships: Feryn Smith & Zolf Smith
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	1. The Collapse

**Author's Note:**

> This is just going to be a bunch of sort-of fix-its, pre-, during, and post-canon, as I come up with them.  
> And I’m just going to ignore the fact that Herefordshire (which is where Zolf is from if I recall correctly) is not actually on a coast because I didn’t look that up until after I finished this.

Zolf never wanted to be a miner. He hated the mines, hated the feeling of being underground, surrounded by the dark, and the damp, with the stone pressing in on all sides. It felt like being trapped, caged, like there wasn’t enough space to breathe. 

His parents didn’t understand it. They never said so exactly, not out loud, but they didn’t really need to. The looks they gave him as they tried to convince him again, and again, and again despite his stubborn refusal was more than enough evidence for him. Their brows would furrow, lips pressed into thin lines, twisted into frowns. They were disappointed.

It was hardly the first time they’d been disappointed in him, though, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. So what did it matter? (Why did it hurt so much?)

Feryn didn’t understand either. Or maybe he did, Zolf was never able to tell. He never complained about the mines at any rate; he went to work day after day, toiling underground for hours, emerging covered in dust and dirt and grime. But he didn’t seem to  _ enjoy _ it, was always quiet when he came home, not with contentment, but with bone-deep exhaustion. 

Whether he understood Zolf’s feelings or not, he never judged him for them. He was always quick to jump to Zolf’s defence whenever their parents tried to push the issue, and Zolf loved him for it (and tried not to feel guilty that Feryn needed to, that he couldn’t just deal with it on his own).

(He should be able to deal with it on his own.)

But Feryn couldn’t always be there to protect him (shouldn’t have to be, Zolf believed), and Zolf could only resist his parent’s wishes for so long. It was inevitable, really, that one day he would give in, succumb to the pressure (to the ever-encroaching feeling that, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he was never going to be able to escape the mines). And he did, one day, while Feryn was at work, and his mother just wouldn’t relent (making him feel like he was letting the family down, just because he had different aspirations, different fears). He gave in, and the next morning readied himself to venture into the mines with Feryn.

He didn’t want to go. He was dreading it, even, finally getting a proper tour of the one place he’d tried so hard to avoid, which was probably why he didn’t say anything when Feryn started going the wrong way. And why he stayed silent as they kept going, and going, until they wound up on the beach, staring out over the open water.

Neither of them said a word, just sat silently, shoulder to shoulder as the waves lapped gently at the sand. It was the happiest Zolf had been in a very long time.

They didn’t learn of the collapse until hours later, when they finally made their way home, both of their parents wrapping them up as tightly in their arms as they could manage.

They stopped trying to convince him to go to the mines, after that.

(In another world, Zolf returned home covered in dirt and dust and mud, rather than salt-spray and sand. In another world, Zolf returned home alone, to parents with red-rimmed eyes shattered hearts. In another world, Zolf returned home to cutting words, not meant, not really, but taken to heart anyway. In another world, though Zolf returned home, he did not stay, but rather left without a word, and without a goodbye.)

Something about the sea called to him, after that day. Perhaps because he couldn’t help but feel that it had saved him, had saved Feryn. Perhaps he felt as though he owed it for that. It didn’t really matter. In any case, the call led him to a temple, to his faith and, eventually, to a whirlwind adventure,to people whom he came to love, and who loved him. 

But that’s a story for another time.


	2. Other London

Sasha Rackett was born in Other London, but she didn’t stay there. 

Her parents knew well the dangers of the city, the violence and death hiding around every corner, and while they were well aware that life elsewhere held no guarantees of safety, they felt that anywhere was better than there. So they left, snuck their way into Upper London and then, when that wasn’t enough to escape the clutches of Barrett’s gang, out of the country, to France.

Their time in Other London had given her parents a very particular set of skills that were difficult to apply in any situation beyond thieving, but that was fine. They were careful; when Sasha was too young to care for herself, they made sure that one of them was home with her at all times. Even when she’d grown up a bit, they tried to make sure that only one of them was involved with anything overly dangerous, to limit the chances that she’d be orphaned if something went wrong. Nothing ever did go wrong; they were good at what they did, after all.

They knew how to stay safe in a world that was always so hostile to people like them. They knew how to steer clear of La Gourmand’s anger, how to evade Barrett’s men when they inevitably came looking for them and, when that evasion was no longer enough, they knew how to send a message, a warning.

They had tried so hard to keep her out of it. They’d given her the best education they could on their own, had even considered sending her to a school before ultimately deciding it was far too dangerous (they wouldn’t let Barrett have their daughter, they wouldn’t). But Sasha herself was somewhat of a prodigy when it came to her parent’s business. She seemed almost able to melt into the shadows around her, silent and unseen as she relieved the elite of Paris of their most closely guarded valuables. She could pick even the most complicated mundane locks in under a minute, and the magical ones in under two.

At least they hadn’t forced her into it, they told themselves. At least they’d given her the choice, given her every opportunity they could. At least she always knew she had a place, had  _ people, _ that she could come back to if it was ever too much.

So they let Sasha do her work, helped her when they could, stayed out of the way and watched when they couldn’t (so, so proud of her, always).

They knew she’d move on eventually, leaving them behind; she was far too good for a life such as theirs, and Barrett wouldn’t leave her in peace forever.

At least the people she left with seemed kind.

* * *

Sasha was good at what she did, and she knew it. She was as handy with a dagger as she was with a set of lock picks, and she had no qualms about using either of them.

She was not, however, nearly as good at judging a person’s character. At least, that’s what she thought to herself as she stood outside what was, as far as she could see, a long-abandoned newspaper. Really, she should have looked into her client more, should have tried to figure out what she could possibly want with La Gazette Cor. Then she wouldn’t have had to waste a day staking out an empty building that probably didn’t even have anything worthwhile inside. She stuck around for a few hours anyway, scoping it out on the off chance that something interesting might happen, though she highly doubted anything would.

Luckily for her, she was wrong.

After about an hour of watching La Gazette from her vantage point across the street, she noticed two people, mercenaries by the look of them, approaching. She wouldn’t have thought anything of it, not really, had it not been for their very obvious gesturing to the same building she was watching.

Maybe there was something interesting inside after all.

There was no harm, she figured, in tailing the mercenaries for a bit. Just long enough to figure out what they were after. Just… a short diversion before she inevitably returned to her client with whatever dusty documents she could scrounge up from inside (though why Madam Rose even wanted them, Sasha had no idea).

And if, after a few minutes of tailing them, hearing them bicker amicably back and forth about the best way to accomplish whatever it was they were there for, she felt an odd sort of kinship with them… Well, that didn’t matter, did it? She had a job to do.

Maybe they’d even be able to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would a mercenary group work with only two people? Probably not, but this is my happy ending au and I'm not about to acknowledge Bertie's existence


End file.
